


High Fashion

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-03
Updated: 2011-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're doing it over there, but we don't do it here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Fashion

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://mrsronweasley.livejournal.com/profile)[**mrsronweasley**](http://mrsronweasley.livejournal.com/) who had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. ♥

  
Gerard’s locked the basement door, which is kind of unprecedented. He knows if he needs to get in, Mikey will just lift the door by the handle and the lock will pop, but the fact that he’ll have to do that should stop him from actually doing it. There aren’t many areas of his life that Gerard needs or wants privacy, but this - _whatever it is_ \- is one of them.

“You’re locking the door?”

“Shut up.” He looks back at Frank and then his shoulders slump. “Sorry. I’m just…well, nervous. I think I’m nervous. Do you think it’s nerves?”

“You always act like a crack-addled ADD sufferer, dude.” He pats the bed next to him and smiles. “Come on. It’s me. Relax.”

“I’m not sure I can.” He paces the distance of the carpet runner that was left over from when Don decided they needed to upgrade the carpet from baby-shit avocado green to burnt umber gold, planting them even more firmly in the mid-seventies. It’s like a LSD trip to go into the downstairs half-bath. “I mean. You know.”

“Gerard. Relax. You’ve done this before.”

“No. No. I’ve done part of it before.”

“Which part of it is different now?”

“I’m doing it for you.”

Frank smiles at him, something softer than his usual sharp and mocking grin. “Yeah. You are. Or, well, with me. Or, well…” He shrugs and shakes his head. “With my help.”

“You’re gonna help?”

Frank rolls his eyes, and Gerard knows they’ve had this discussion at least once, because they’re _here_ and the door is locked, but maybe he missed some of the nuances in his panicked reaction to Frank telling him that he thought Gerard in a dress was kind of hot and would like to see him get ready. Or possibly he just spent the rest of the conversation nodding and grunting noncommittally while building the fantasy in his head. Or embellishing the one that was already there. “Yes, Gerard. I’m going to help. Now, get naked.”

“That’s not helpful.”

Frank stands up and moves over to him, something different then his quick, frantic movements that Gerard’s so used to. He focuses on Frank’s hands, because he loves them, the way they move when Frank talks, the way they stroke his guitar strings. Frank is wild and passionate about things, and Gerard sees it in his hands, how they’re never still. He keeps watching as Frank gets closer, stopping in front of him and tugging Gerard’s shirt up from his waist. “Let me get you naked.”

Gerard doesn’t resist, letting Frank tug it up his arms and over his head. It’s usually a little chillier in the basement than the rest of the house, but today it feels too warm, even though his nipples tighten when his shirt is gone. He licks his lips a couple of times, nervously and shifts his stance, willing himself not to cross his arms across his chest or his stomach and hide the extra weight. Frank’s tiny and trim and all muscle and skin and Gerard feels a little awkward, even though Frank’s knows him better than just what’s on the outside. Even though he knows that Frank loves what’s on the outside.

“Fuck, Gee. Look at you.” Frank leans in, his mouth moving along Gerard’s collarbone, just breathing against the jut of it. Gerard inhales sharply as Frank’s fingers graze over the smattering of dark hair at Gerard’s navel then curve around the waistband of his pants, working the button free and the fly down. “So beautiful.”

“I’m no-”

Frank doesn’t let him finish. “Hush.”

He stops, because it’s hard to argue with Frank when he’s on his knees, pushing Gerard’s black jeans and boxer-briefs to the floor. Frank’s mouth near his dick on any day is a really good thing, but for some reason knowing that they’re not even close to that point right now makes it even better. Or worse. One of those. He’s not sure which.

“Sit.”

Gerard edges around Frank, knowing he turns his head to watch him walk to the bed from the feel of breath on his thigh. He sits at the edge of the mattress, knees up and on the balls of his feet to hide his growing arousal. Frank’s turned to face him, still on his knees, and he crawls over to where Gerard is sitting and tugs over a duffel bag. “I had to guess on some of the stuff.”

“It’s okay. I do too.”

Frank grins and unzips the bag. The sound’s no different from the same one he’s heard in locker rooms all throughout his school years, a duffel, a backpack, anything, but it carries something heavier in the air, like a ghostly scent of perfume that escapes as it opens. “I found these at Gallo’s in the back. They’re not quite what I was going for.”

Gerard takes the small bundle of cloth from Frank’s hand and lets it roll out into a pair of plain white satin panties with frilly lace at the leg cuffs. “They’re kind of little girl-ish.”

“Yeah, but they’re big enough, I think. And, you know, they were the first thing. So I was nervous.”

Gerard shakes his head and hands them back to Frank. They stare at each other for a moment, the air getting heavier still until Gerard stands up and exhales shakily. Frank takes the cue and lays the panties on the ground, opening them up for Gerard to step in to. He stays on the balls of his feet, like when he was a kid, and pretending he was walking around in Barbie’s high heels or David Bowie’s platform boots, only sinking down when Frank guides them up his legs, fitting them snuggly over his hips. They’re a bit too small, and the elastic cuts in, catching on the hair around his cock, but the lace rubs the inside of his thigh when he moves.

“Fuck.” Frank breathes the word, not even loud enough to be a whisper, as he runs his hands up the outsides of Gerard’s legs. He curves his palms around Gerard’s hips and lets his thumbs settle on the bulge of Gerard’s cock, straining against the tight fabric, curved along the line of his body where the fabric keeps it pressed tight against him. “Fuck, Gee.”

“J-just started. Can’t f-fuck yet.” His breath keeps catching, his voice sounding softer, higher.

“Right. Right.” Frank doesn’t look away from Gerard’s cock for a long moment, then he swallows hard and shifts back, ass on his heels. “Got a ways to go.” He rummages into the bag and pulls out a gaudy purple _Fredricks of Hollywood_ bag. “I made Devon buy this for me on a dare.”

Gerard watches as Frank peels away the tissue paper, revealing a hot pink garter belt. He thinks for a moment that he’s going to end up looking like a clown in the mix of colors, until he looks at Frank’s face. It’s flushed red and Gerard can tell he’s turned on, and suddenly the color doesn’t matter. What the pieces look like aren’t important to Frank. What’s important is Gerard being in them. Trusting him enough to wear them, to let Frank dress him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He bet me I wouldn’t eat a hot dog.”

“You’re a vegetarian.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t a real hot dog.” He grins wickedly and Gerard’s cock jumps despite the material restraining it. “I’m not above cheating to get what I want.”

Gerard steps into the garter belt and lets Frank settle it on his hips, the garters hanging down and brushing his bare thighs. He’s never had a lot of hair on his legs and he’d actually shaved them two days ago, so only the faintest hint of stubble remains. He’d wanted to touch them up the night before, but everyone was home and talking and he hadn’t been able to get the time alone.

It doesn’t seem to bother Frank though as Gerard sits down on the bed and Frank runs his hands down over Gerard’s thighs and calves, up his shins to his knees. “Look at you.”

“Not yet. Not finished.”

“This is extra.” Frank says with a shake of his head. “Don’t forget.” He gives Gerard a quick grin though. “But, are you ready for more?”

The wet spot on the pristine white panties answers the question for both of them, and Gerard knows Frank’s just as aware of it as he is, so he doesn’t say anything, just holds out one leg, pointing the toe and waiting. Frank opens a new package of stockings, letting them fall out before he gathers the nylon up from the lace-lined opening. He goes slowly, carefully, and Gerard has to close his eyes, listening to the rasp of calluses on the silky material.

Gerard thinks of images iconic in the art world of women sliding on nylons – pinups and commercials and the wrinkled mass Donna used to always pull out of L’eggs eggs – and this feels like that same kind of moment, like he’s buying into a culture, like he should say no because it’s objectifying and wrong, but instead he can only focus on the feel of Frank’s fingers sliding them up his leg, making it feel like the stubble of hair doesn’t exist, like all it’s leaving behind is smooth silkiness. “Oh.”

Frank doesn’t say anything, just focuses on smoothing the top against Gerard’s thigh, carefully hooking the garter’s clips to the fabric. Once they’re hooked, he runs his hand down and cradles the arch of Gerard’s foot, rubbing his thumb over his ankle. “I didn’t…I didn’t fucking know this part would be so…”

“I know. Me…me either. I mean. I always get…but you…with you…”

Frank clears his throat and nods and reaches for the other stocking. This time Gerard closes his eyes as Frank slides it up the length of his leg, just feeling. He shivers, because even though he and Frank touch each other, this is different. Deliberate. Once Frank gets the clips fastened he rubs a hand over his mouth and looks up at Gerard, his eyes huge in his face. “Stand up.”

“Shoes. In my closet.”

Frank scrambles over, kind of crawling, certainly not getting off the floor. Gerard doesn’t blame him. He knows he can’t walk right now without looking like he’s bow-legged from his hard on. He watches Frank dig, eyes moving over the lines of Frank’s clothes – his jeans then his boxer-briefs then skin then the hem of his t-shirt. He wants to lick the hints of ink that are exposed, but he holds himself still as Frank comes out of the closet with a large shoe box.

He’s got small feet, so he gets by with Elena’s old shoes, some of them from the forties. Broad, thick three-inch heels and tiny buckles at the ankle, in proper colors like black and brown and tan. The pair Frank pulls out are black, simple and serviceable, but sliding them on makes them something more. It changes the way Gerard stands, the way he holds himself. They smell like old leather and the straps are snug against his ankles as Frank fastens the catches. He looks up at Gerard and his eyes are impossibly dark, the humor Gerard is used to seeing blacked out with desire.

“Frank…”

“Shh.” He stands up, and Gerard can see Frank’s cock straining, tenting out his baggy jeans. “Almost there.”

“N-not even close.” He can’t breathe right, everything caught in his lungs.

“Shh.” Frank grabs the duffel bag off the floor and sets it on the bed, pulling out a trashed paper bag with the logo of one of the local Goodwill-type shops. He dumps a pile on the covers and sorts through them quickly, tossing aside an Anthrax shirt and a thrashed Ozzy Osbourne shirt with fucking Randy Rhodes in the graphic. Gerard starts to reach for it until Frank holds up a blue, cocktail length A-line dress made of dark velvet. Instead Gerard touches the dress and shivers.

“Where did you…”

“Fucking Isabelle Rossellini, right?” He turns it around and unzips it, and Gerard can see it’s handmade, even though it’s well made. He remembers Frank bitching about the sewing class he had to take one year, and thinks about Frank’s hands all over the fabric, sewing this for him. He sways on the heels and grabs Frank’s shoulder, steadying himself. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Frank smiles at him and Gerard manages a deeper breath, oxygen to his brain, even if his blood is pooled in his dick. Frank lifts the dress up and Gerard ducks his head, shifting his hips from side to side to help it slither down his body. Frank’s hands are everywhere on the dress and Gerard wants to groan at the feel of it, but he’s afraid Frank would stop. Instead he just tries to move into the touches until Frank turns him and slides the zipper up.

He stops about three-quarters of the way up, the zipper catching where Gerard’s shoulders broaden. It makes the sleeves fall off the shoulders a bit, dipping down in layered bunches in the middle of his upper arm. It creates an illusion of cleavage and Gerard sees Frank’s eyes going there directly. “Since when are you a boob man?”

Frank looks up and grins, the apples of his cheeks flushed red. “Since you’ve got boobs.”

“You’ll say anything to get into my pants, won’t you?”

“Panties.” The word comes out rough, full of promise. “Wanna get into your panties.”

“I’m not done.” He tries to pout, but his voice holds more frustration and want than anything. “Still have to make me pretty.”

“Told you,” Frank reminds him, taking Gerard’s hand and guiding him back to sit on the edge of the bed. “You’re already beautiful.”

“Still trying to get into my panties.” He smiles and taps Frank on the nose. “Let me do the makeup.”

Frank nods and then leans in, stealing a quick kiss that changes even faster than it began. Gerard parts his lips, tasting Frank’s tongue as it slides over his. It deepens and Frank scoots closer, only pulling away when they’re both breathless. “I’ll be over there.”

Gerard gets off the bed once Frank is settled on the low couch and walks over to his dresser. His body moves differently in the heels, feels different as the nylons rub and the lace scratches and the garters press against his thighs. He rubs his hands over the front of the dress, smoothing down the velvet then steadies himself against his dresser. There’s a bag of makeup, some of it stolen from the theater department at school and more of it shoplifted from Kmart and the local drug store. He’s not sure enough to try most of it, so he sticks to the things he knows, the things that aren’t much, but still enough to get his ass kicked at a local club.

Eyeliner and mascara are just like drawing, so he plays with them to the best effect. Brushes and pencils fit in his hand in the way nothing else does, and it’s easy to layer the color beneath his eye, along his eyelid, and to feather the brush through his lashes. He takes a smoky gray shadow they’d used on the worst version of Hamlet ever and colors the corners of his eyes, shadowing them lightly until they seem deeper somehow.

He doesn’t worry about blush, since his cheeks feel like they’re burning with heat, high color already flushed across them. The next step is lipstick, and even though this should be just as easy as anything else – it’s not much more than a charcoal in his hand – he shakes when he lifts the red to his lips.

Frank is there before Gerard realizes he’s moved, reaching out and curling his hand around Gerard’s. His voice doesn’t sound right, doesn’t sound like _Frank_ when he talks. Instead it’s something rough and hot and _adult_ that Gerard’s never heard. “Let me.”

Gerard presses his lips together and turns, facing Frank. At first he thinks he must have done something wrong, because Frank just stands there, staring at him, his hand higher on the tube of lipstick than Gerard’s. “What?”

“Just…fuck. I mean, holy fuck.” He smiles and it’s a moment before Gerard realizes the expression on Frank’s face is a kind of wonder. “You look…” Frank shakes his head. “Let me, okay? Please?”

Gerard nods and Frank takes the lipstick from him, exhaling as he looks steadily at Gerard’s mouth. Gerard presses his lips together and then parts them, closing his eyes against the intensity of Frank’s look.

“So fucking beautiful, Gee.” The lipstick touches his lower lip and slides easily from the middle to the left, and then again to the right. He knows Frank used to sit and watch his mom do her makeup when he was a kid, because they’ve talked about the ritual, watching a mother become a woman and how strange it felt as a kid. He can picture Donna now, Elena even. See Frank’s mom in his mind’s eye as he presses his lips together then parts them again.

Frank slides the lipstick over Gerard’s upper lip, tracing the line of it carefully. Gerard opens his eyes before he pulls the tube away and stares at him, suddenly, desperately aware of what he’s wearing and what he’s feeling and how Frank is looking at him. “Frankie…”

“Fuck.” Frank presses in, tossing the lipstick on the dresser as he kisses Gerard. He has to raise up on his toes to combat the change in height due to the heels, but it gives him momentum to drive them both back to the bed. Gerard stumbles, but he’s close enough to the mattress that he lets himself fall onto it. Frank climbs up after him, spreading Gerard’s legs, his hands gliding up the nylons. “Look at you. So fucking gorgeous.”

“I’m…”

“You are.” Frank shakes his head, not letting Gerard argue. “I can see you, spread out before me. Right here.” He traces the top of one of the stockings where the dress had fallen back when Gerard landed on the bed. “And here.” His other hand follows the hem from mid-thigh to just above the hint of white shadowed by the overhanging skirt. “And here.” He redirects his hand, moving it up Gerard’s stomach, careful to avoid the bulge of his cock beneath the dress. “Here.” He traces the neckline of the dress then Gerard’s skin up to his jaw. “And here. You’re fucking beautiful, Gee.”

“Y-you.” Gerard bites his lower lip, tasting the waxy hint of the lipstick. “God, kiss me.”

Frank leans in, and it feels like slow motion because Gerard is sure his heart beats a thousand times before he gets the press of Frank’s lips, sure that ages pass before he can reach out and trace the waistband of Frank’s boxer-briefs up to his stomach, fanning them out over his abdomen. He tilts his head, letting Frank guide the kiss, his tongue stroking against Gerard’s, tangling with it. It ends and then begins again, kiss after kiss until Gerard’s hands are under Frank’s shirt, pushing it up and off and away so that he has access to every inch of skin.

His nails aren’t long, but he can feel them score against Frank’s back, can feel Frank shiver above him. Gerard’s hips roll upward, unable to keep himself still as Frank groans into his mouth. “Gee. God, Gee. Fuck.” His shifts, bracing himself on one hand and looking down as his other moves between Gerard’s legs, fingers ghosting over the panties.

Gerard jerks hard, even though Frank’s barely touched him, breaking the kiss with a thick gasp. Frank’s hand is rubbing now, stroking against Gerard’s perineum. “F-Frank…”

“God, you’d be so wet, wouldn’t you? Right now. So fucking wet for me.”

“Am. Fuck, Frank. I _am_.” He wants to tug Frank’s hand higher, press it against his cock, but he doesn’t want this to be over, to end. Ever. “So wet.”

“Yeah?” Frank’s whispering, letting his fingers move higher and higher, tracing the line of Gerard’s cock until he finds the wet material where Gerard has leaked through. “Oh, yeah. So fucking wet.”

“Frank. Fuck. Frankie, c’mon. C’mon.”

Frank cuts him off with another kiss, hard and bruising. It’s teeth and tongue and want and Gerard wraps his arms around him, feeling the sleeves of the dress fall up to his shoulders as he tugs Frank closer. Frank moves, shifting down until their bodies are lined up, shoving Gerard’s skirt to his waist before getting his own jeans down past his cock.

They both make a noise when Frank changes position, cocks aligned and sliding together. It’s cotton against satin and then it’s flesh against satin and it takes everything he has not to come at the feel of Frank pressing against him, at the thought of him sliding inside him. It’s hot and wet, sweaty and humid in the heavy dress and the tight panties and there are too many sensations as the denim rasps against the nylon and the lace rubs at his thighs and everything is too tight, too intense, too _much_ , and Gerard arches up with his orgasm, feeling it trapped in the tight fabric, soaking through it, coating him.

“Oh, fuck,” Frank moans, his hips jerking hard and erratic as he comes as well, his cock already leaking against the damp fabric before his orgasm shudders through him. He slumps there for a moment, then forces himself up onto his hands, looking down at Gerard. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Gerard manages a weak flutter of his hand, nothing at all like a wave. “That was…”

“Something we definitely have to do again.”

Gerard meets Frank’s eyes and smiles, feeling a different kind of blush stain his cheeks. “Yeah?”

Frank nods and lowers himself down against him again, pressing a kiss to Gerard’s throat. The air smells like wax and makeup and come, the faint odor of cedar and mothballs coming from the dress and the other clothes Frank left piled on the bed. "Yes. Again. Absolutely.”  



End file.
